Home in the Valley
by GoldenGirlK9191
Summary: Imogen spent her childhood summers on her grandfather's farm. Then she grew up, went to college, and sold herself to Joja Corp. When her life becomes too absorbed by work to attend her grandfather's funeral, her roommates convince her to do the unthinkable: leave the city to take the farm in Stardew Valley. And she won't be alone. (Cover image courtesy of u/Nijuuni via Reddit.)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Imogen inherited everything the day her grandfather died. She hung up on her father before he could tell her every detail. Each memory that raced through her mind brought with it the magnitude of her summers until college, running around the farm and exploring every nook and cranny of Grandad's property. When Gram passed away, Grandad slowed down. He sold his livestock. Then the last of his crops. Lived off retirement and social security. Imogen wrote most weeks, called when she could. Her life as a double major stole what time she usually gave to her family and turned it into work production instead. The month she graduated, Grandad had been too sick to come, so she bought a video recorder and set it up on a tripod, recorded the ceremony.

And forgot to send the video. It sat on her side table in a box, addressed and taped up, ready for the postman. Now he was gone, and Imogen was his heir. The great and terrible need for employment had fallen upon her. The urgency for a desk and a cubicle warped her every thought into a corporate advertisement, and she wondered…had she been the original recipient of her grandfather's estate? There had to be a mistake.

"Aren't you his only grandchild?" Farthing brushed the bangs out of his eyes and stirred his coffee slowly. Imogen's roommates sat around the table with her. Saturdays were for big breakfasts and folk music. Soft guitar strains drifted out of the record player, and Imogen sighed behind her tea cup.

"No, there's three of us. We just don't talk much." She sniffed. "One doesn't even live in the country anymore."

"What connection do they have to the farm?"

"Probably none. Maybe they came to the farmhouse for a weekend or a whole week, but that was a long time ago. I'm the youngest of all of us. The others are in their forties, and I was there the longest overall."

Eleanor snapped her fingers and wrote on her white board, "Late to the party."

Imogen nodded. "Basically."

"You wouldn't remember the older generation's vacation time, either, in that case," Farthing said.

Imogen's cell phone vibrated across the tabletop, WORK popping up in the caller ID. She groaned and laid her head across her arms on the table. "I'm so tired of being called in on the weekend."

The silence in the room didn't bolster her confidence much. She'd complained every day since getting her office job. She heard the top of Eleanor's marker pop off, then the quiet strokes of felt against plastic, and a small tapping touched her elbow. Imogen peeked one eye out from her thick mop of hair. The white board had one word:

"MOOOOO."

Farthing snorted. "I agree."

"I can't take the farm," Imogen murmured.

Eleanor shrugged, brow furrowed.

"Because! I'm not a morning person, and it's probably all run-down, and the will must have been a mistake anyway, so what does it even matter? Besides all that, Pelican Town is so far from any real civilization that I would go insane for sure."

"You say at least three times a day, 'Ugh, I wish we lived in the country,' Imogen." Farthing sighed and sat back, rubbing the corner of his eye. "Don't you think we'd help you if it needs fixing? You're like a sister to us."

"For real, though," Eleanor wrote quickly.

"It's not like this is a tiny one-room cabin we'd be moving into. Something we'd need to expand or whatever," Farthing said quietly. He laid a hand on Imogen's and smiled. Tears welled up and stung her eyes. "It's a huge farmhouse. I think we'd be okay for rooms."

Imogen sniffed. She swallowed in order to speak past the burning lump in her throat. "I know. It's just…I didn't even go to the funeral, so I don't deserve the farm."

A heavy silence enveloped them like a thick fog. Eleanor gave a tiny puff of a sigh. Her marker strokes and Imogen's subdued crying marked the end of the record's side A, and Farthing quietly stood to turn it over, his stocking feet making no more than a quiet padding on the kitchen floor. Ethereal vocal harmonies loosened some of the tension.

"I spoke to your dad," he said.

Imogen was too distraught to be angry.

"He said that we'd better not pack until he can get out there to meet with Mayor Lewis about the property, and—"

Imogen slammed her fist on the tabletop. "It's my farm!"

"It doesn't sound like it."

"Only because I don't think I should take it!"

"Do you want to sell anymore of your soul to Joja Corp for the sake of a desk and health insurance, or do you want to stop whining and take responsibility for your own life?"

Eleanor's eyebrows shot up. She mouthed, "Ow," and gritted her teeth.

"You're nasty when you want to be," Imogen murmured. Her chest boiled like a thunderstorm, and every nerve in her body felt as though it were twitching.

"I'm honest," Farthing said, voice level and calm. "You're a mess. Your hair is falling out, you're constantly sick, and you've lost fifty pounds since you took this position. I don't think your grandfather wanted this for you. I think he left you the farm for a reason."

The cellphone buzzed across the table again, and Imogen clenched her fist until her nails bit into the skin of her palm. Her heart hammered a pattern into her ribs. Part of her wanted so badly to grab the phone, to grab for stability, and never let go. Another part (one she felt growing more and more dominant in her mind) longed for adventure, for a new life in which the outcome was as yet undecided by the majority. A fate that she herself determined. She would be her own boss. She would set her own course. And she had two of the best friends she'd ever found willing to rig the sails and cruise with her into this new life, slow and steady and braced for whatever outcome lay ahead.

And still…

Her fingertips grazed the phone's case, but Eleanor snatched it away. It rang like an oversized gnat, persistent and irritating. Face pleading, she sent WORK to voicemail and shook her head at Imogen, who didn't resist. She wrote on her board and flipped it around, giving her friend a small, sad smile:

"You're killing yourself for nothing."

Tears sprang back up, and Imogen couldn't stop them this time. "They promised so much. Humanitarian opportunities. Vacations. Grants to further your education. Family benefits. I could have gotten insurance for my parents if I'd taken on ten more hours."

"You know, there used to be regulations against 70-hour work weeks." Farthing's rumble of a murmur filled Imogen with a flame of comfort and familiarity. She grabbed hold of the proverbial life ring, white-knuckled and gasping for breath.

"I'm terrified." Her whisper exploded into the quiet.

"That's why we're coming with you."

Eleanor drew a large heart.

"And because we love you."

A half-sob, half-laugh bubbled up now, and Imogen wiped the back of her wrist across her eyes. "It won't be smooth."

Farthing shrugged. "That's fine."

"It won't be easy."

Eleanor wrote, "We're tough!"

"It will be home, though."

Farthing smiled broadly and nodded. "That's something we can all agree on."

The dark fist of anxiety clenching her heart loosened, allowing a trickle of emotion into Imogen's whole being. She recognized it from years ago, just before she'd started undergrad, a feeling now so foreign, she grieved for that carefree girl of eighteen. Where had she gone? How had she disappeared so quietly, so quickly? Without Imogen even noticing, at that. Was finding hope again so easy? She didn't know for sure, but some nudge in the core of her heart told her she'd find both her old self and her hope in the fields and forests of Stardew Valley.


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE: Sorry this was so late in coming. Life just got right in the way. :(

Chapter Two

However much she had prepared herself for her return, Imogen's hands shook on the handles of her suitcases. She tied up her waist-length hair into a tight ponytail as the car rolled to a stop on the only incoming road to Pelican Town. Eleanor switched off the ignition and gave her friend a thumbs-up.

Imogen nodded. "I'm okay. Right now, at least. Seeing the house? I don't think I'll ever be ready."

When loss brings one back to one's roots, the pull to earth is often violent. She felt the jarring collision coming up fast, and her bones already seemed to tremble. While Farthing loaded the boxes onto his truck and sorted out the last of the apartment's end-of-lease details, Eleanor and Imogen took the suitcases on the road to Pelican Town. Imogen almost wished she had stayed to file through the last details of leaving. Given herself a little more time, told herself a month wasn't long enough to wait. But she knew herself, and if she hesitated anymore, she would never set foot in the valley again. So she sucked in a breath, opened the car door, and stepped into the brisk spring air.

She had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by trees and mountains. Not to drive on by and away into the distance, but to stand in the midst of them, breathing their heavy green scent, looking up and finding only bark and leaves, feeling the pressure of your insignificance not as a cog in a corporate wheel, but as a living thing also, responsible for the enduring health of this ancient, organic mechanism. Small, powerless but empowered. A shiver crept up her spine.

"Wow." The whisper came from Eleanor, and the rarity of her speech doubled the swelling emotion in Imogen's chest. She turned to her friend, whose eyes shone with tears.

She whispered back, "Is it possible we've both come home?"

The difficult part, she saw now, had been giving her notice and committing to life outside of her established norm. As far as farming went, she knew the ins and outs. Until she'd been eighteen, that _was_ her norm. Now it would be again. Already Zuzu City felt worlds, galaxies, universes away. The mountains had swallowed the skyline, and she was free.

Free. And exhausted.

"Come on, Eleanor," Imogen said. "Let's get right into things. I can't wait anymore."

Eleanor gestured to the car.

"Well…let's see if the roads are accessible that far in. It's been awhile, remember?"

They left the car on the shoulder of the road and walked down the cool length of the tunnel leading into Pelican Town. Once daylight reached them again, the hulk of a paint-chipped bus sat lurking on the side of the road, where the dirt road ran into the shoulder. Grass had begun popping up in the overgrown ground. Imogen blinked, surprised.

"It stopped running?" The question seemed dull now that it left her mouth. At Eleanor's questioning look, she continued, "It used to go all over the place. Rides into Calico Desert, sometimes Zuzu City, other towns in the area. Farming competitions and expos. What happened?"

Eleanor drew her mouth into a thin line, then shrugged. With a sigh, Imogen led the way onward, past the bus and onto the worn path. An old metal bench languished under a coat of rust near the ticket booth to their right, long shut off. The posts of the bus shelter remained, but no awning sat atop them. Sad nostalgia filled Imogen. It would only pick up from here, she knew.

"Well," she said, "we know we can at least drive this far in."

The dirt road ahead looked promising as well. Bumpy and a nightmare for their shocks, but accessible at least. The truck would be fine, however, and they hurried quickly past the old cattle gate, onto the last stretch before the lane curved away to fields, a lake, a house. To be specific, a farmhouse.

Imogen's farmhouse.

Its dormers peeked from between the tall pines and maples. The chimney came into view a few steps more, and the trees thinned to reveal the large, covered front porch in one piece. The siding looked brand new. The closer she got, the more she could see the new varnish gleaming on fresh boards on the porch as well, and the two front steps shone alongside.

"Someone's redone it," she murmured. "It's been re-shingled, and..."

Eleanor whistled long and low.

"You're telling me. It's beautiful. Grandad would be so happy."

Eleanor wrote on her board: "Anyone know?"

"We were coming?" Imogen shrugged. "I had to tell the mayor that we'd decided to move in, and I sent those ownership papers back to the proper places. So…maybe?"

Blinking, Eleanor raised one eyebrow and knocked on her board, then pointed at the house. Imogen followed her gesture to the front door, where a white envelope was stuck to the window. Her name in beautiful swooping cursive adorned the front. A smile took hold of her before she could stop herself.

"It's from the local carpenter." Warmth spread through her chest. "Robin. The town pitched in to revive the farmhouse after Grandad died, she says. Mayor Lewis told her we were coming, and she's making us a set of furniture."

Eleanor gave Imogen's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Smiling, she swept one hand to the house and bowed, as if to say, "After you."

Dabbing at her eyes, Imogen turned the knob and stepped onto the hardwood floor of the living room. She and some of the local kids had sat here on this old rug, watching holiday specials and throwing popcorn at each other. Laughing, sometimes fighting, but always making up. Grandad and Gram held Marnie's hand right there on the couch as she wept for her husband leaving. They'd celebrated Imogen's birthdays, the Fourth of July, rejoiced with births, mourned with deaths and departures. All in this tiny room. She ran her hand over the back of the recliner, the leather soft but cracked in places, looked at the plush couch and where the old upholstery peeked out at the seams a little. That was the TV where Grandad was supposed to have played the film of her graduating—the one she never sent. Now its screen reflected only herself and Eleanor.

Unable to stop the flood, Imogen sat in her grandfather's chair, and she cried.


	3. Chapter 3

NOTE: I'm going to try to post at least twice a month. I think this is entry one for June. Anyway, please enjoy! And tell me what I can do to improve. :D Thanks!

Chapter Three

"A little farther!"

Imogen waved slowly to Farthing, and he inched the truck backward toward the garage a few more feet. He leaned out the window, his box braids falling around his face. Smiling, she signaled for him to take it slow, a little more, stop. The truck's engine died, and he stepped into the dim light of the garage.

"This is everything," he said. "We didn't have too much after all."

"And with Eleanor in the car, the rest of our stuff is on the way. This is really happening," Imogen said, fighting a grin. "No regret yet?"

He shook his head. "Not a bit."

She paused a beat. "Hey, Farthing?"

"Mm?" He stopped untying the bungee cords and gave her his attention. Once more, she was grateful for the friendship she'd found.

"Is it…well, is it wrong to feel happy?"

"About all this?"

"Yeah. The house and moving and coming back to the Valley. I wanted to someday, but not because I lost my grandfather." Imogen swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "I'm so happy to be here, and to have you and Ella with me. But shouldn't I feel sadder?"

Farthing breathed in slowly, then let it out in a heavy sigh. "I think you will. Maybe not today, but down the road. Let yourself be excited. I'm pretty excited too, Peaches."

Imogen squeezed him in a tight hug. He returned it, then paused. Holding up a finger, he walked back outside and waved to someone.

"Morning," Farthing said. "Are you looking for Imogen?"

"And her friends, yes," the newcomer said. She thought she recognized the voice but couldn't be entirely certain. Then again, she hadn't been back to the Valley for six years. Life changes more than can be measured even in six months. Dabbing at her eyes, she stepped into the sunlight. The grin she'd fought found its way onto her face, and she ran forward.

"Penny!" At the sight of her old friend's hands full, Imogen grasped her by the shoulders. "Come on, come set this down."

"Here, let me." Farthing took the basket, and Penny wrapped her arms around Imogen. Breathing in the familiar smell of paper and Lysol, Imogen felt a fist of nostalgia grip her insides.

"I'm so sorry I never wrote back to you," she said.

"You did sometimes." Penny looked up to meet her friend's eye. "So I saved those letters and cherished them. I knew we'd talk again."

"I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too. Welcome home. I brought you sandwiches for lunch and a new soda Pierre's is carrying. Gus baked some cookies, so there's dessert." Penny handed the basket over, then shuffled her feet a bit and sighed. "Well…I have to get back. Mom is still sleeping, and you know how she likes to see the place clean when she wakes up."

A pang struck Imogen. "So that hasn't changed at all."

Penny shook her head. "No. But it could be worse. I could be alone, and I don't think I would fare better if that were the case."

You just might, thought Imogen. Out loud, she thanked her old friend and waved goodbye as she hurried away down the path. The moment she disappeared around the corner, a maroon-and-rust colored car came rolling toward the house. Eleanor leaned out the window and waved, and when Imogen waved back, she noticed someone in the passenger seat. His hair covered part of his face. She racked her brain, trying to place what she could see into her memory, but she couldn't until he stepped out with Eleanor and gave his old friend a crooked smile.

"Hey, Flips." Sebastian swept a shock of black hair out of his face. "Hug me later, just help me get this stuff unloaded for now."

"Well, it's good to see you too!" Imogen laughed. "Where's Maru?"

A flash took over Sebastian's eyes for a second, then he forced a smile and shrugged. That was his whole answer before he headed back to the trunk of the car and tried to take a massive suitcase from Eleanor. She pulled away, shaking her head and looking away from him. Flexing, she kissed one defined bicep and picked the suitcase back up. Sebastian blinked, frowned for a second, then pulled a couple more bags out. To Imogen he said, "What's with her?"

"What do you mean?" Imogen looked back to Farthing, who had started unhitching a side table from the truck bed.

"She's…never mind. Later."

"Why—" She saw Eleanor clomp back down the porch steps, a huge smile on her face and two thumbs up. Farthing passed her, placed the side table on the porch, and made for the truck again.

"Ella, this goes in the living room," he said over his shoulder.

Eleanor clapped twice in acknowledgement. Feeling like a lazy slug, Imogen made for the car and took her own suitcases from the back. The funny thing about unpacking—and arguably the most frustrating—is how much more quickly it goes than packing everything up in the first place. Farthing and Eleanor made steady progress on bringing in the smaller pieces of furniture, and Sebastian helped Imogen put everything in its proper place as it was brought in. The team worked through the morning, pausing only for water, and making strong headway in arranging the lot of it. Sebastian shed his hoodie for the black tank he wore underneath, sweat beading on his forehead.

"We've gotta get some of these windows open," he said in a puff of air, lying back on the cool hardwood floor. "Unless you want to scoop me up in a bucket to bring me home."

Eleanor snorted. A touch of a smile perked up the corner of Sebastian's mouth. He stretched his arms toward the ceiling and said, "Does the 'no smoking in the house' rule still apply?"

"Yes, it does," Imogen said, a little quickly. She cleared her throat. "Grandad's rules. Not mine. I don't want to change too much about the spirit of the place, you know?"

"Yeah." Sebastian's tone dropped. "I do know. You remember that summer when we camped in the secret woods, and I snuck a cigarette from Pam's stash? Penny was so mad."

"We were thirteen. Of course she was mad."

"Mad enough to snap it in half and yell at me. The first and only time she's ever raised her voice to either of us."

"I can't imagine she approves of it now."

Sebastian paused. "We don't actually talk much now."

"Oh." Imogen cracked open an orange-cream soda and sat back against the plush couch. Some tension in the air, some hint of sadness, made her hesitant to ask what else had changed. The more time she spent here, the more she'd figure out the differences, she knew that. But she wasn't quite ready to dig into the reality of it. Once the sandwiches had disappeared and the cookies were mostly gone, the crew made to resume their work. Before he could make another move, though, Sebastian's pocket sounded off. Imogen felt a flash of amusement and was about to ask when he got a cell phone, but the dark expression that came over him stopped her.

He answered. "What?"

A tinny response came over the phone, unintelligible to anyone but Sebastian.

"Yeah, I said I'd be out today. Didn't you listen? Yeah. That's not my problem. She can walk over after work, she has two legs. Yes, I said. No. I'm not her babysitter anymore, so no." He flipped the phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. Immediately it started ringing again. Digging one hand down for it, Sebastian pulled it back out, walked to the front door to open it, stepped onto the porch, and threw the ringing phone into the tall grass. A beat passed where everyone held silent. Farthing raised his eyebrows. After a long, heavy breath, Sebastian turned around and gave them a tight smile.

"All right," he said. "Let's finish the job, yeah?"

Marching back into the kitchen, he started putting dishes on the counter. Eleanor coordinated putting them away, and Farthing put a hand on Imogen's arm.

"Should we ask what that was about?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "I think I have an idea, so let's leave it alone. If I'm right, it's a sensitive topic to start with. New people asking him about it won't get a straight answer."

"Is everything all right?"

"For now, it is." She patted his hand. "Come on, they could use some help."

The dishes and few pots and pans they'd brought with them fit into their places, mingled amidst her Grandad's heirlooms left behind. The humming of the refrigerator was a good sign, and having plugged it in first thing got it good and cold for the groceries sitting in ice-filled coolers. Eleanor cuffed each pant leg of her overalls, then wiped the short red hair out of her eyes. Sighing, she sat on one of the coolers, face tight, and made a writing motion. Farthing walked to the living room. He froze.

"Hey, Imogen?" he called. "You happen to know where Ella's board is?"

"No, last time I saw it, it was in the living room," Imogen said, breaking down another box.

"It's not now."

Eleanor held her head in her hands. She gestured for Farthing, and he hurried over, leaning down so she could whisper into his ear. His brow furrowed, and he nodded, touching her cheek gently and saying, "All right. Got it."

He looked to Sebastian. "I think we're all right now, thanks. But we'll see you again soon. You'll have to show us the ropes around here."

"Sure," Sebastian said, "if Pelican Town has any ropes to learn. Flips can do just as well, but I'll try. Anything else I can do?"  
"I'll walk you home," Imogen said, taking his arm and leading him to the door. She cast a look back at Eleanor, who had closed her eyes and started taking deep, even breaths. The evening fell quickly as she and Sebastian made for the forested path north. Halfway to his house, he redonned his hoodie and leaned against a tree.

"So…Eleanor," he said.

"Yeah, Eleanor." Imogen sighed. For a minute, she worked her teeth over her lower lip. "She's got anxiety. Her parents never dealt with it. They didn't believe she had it, so it eventually got to the point where she developed selective mutism. Farthing was the only neighborhood kid she'd talk to. Now they're a two-for-one friend deal."

Sebastian smiled. "Doesn't sound half bad."

"It's not. She just got stressed, is all. First day in a new place, and you hitched a ride with her, and then you helped us unpack, so you were in her space. It's not your fault."

"You'd be surprised what's 'not my fault' these days."

Imogen paused. He'd never gotten along well with his stepfather, but that didn't make the family dynamic unbearable. She found herself glad she'd never had to deal with that kind of transition, then guilty for feeling relief. She cleared her throat. "So…Demetrius?"

Sebastian laid his head back against the tree trunk. His mouth puffed out in a hard exhale. "Demetrius. He got a new grant to study mycology in the valley, so he's made it my duty to care for any of Maru's technological SNAFUs."

"Isn't she an adult now?"

"Nineteen, and still my responsibility, according to her dad. She never was in the first place." He gave a dry chuckle. "I don't know why she just doesn't get out of here. Take her scholarships and run. I would have."

"Why didn't you? We could have studied together."

"I dunno, Flips. I dunno."

The peeping of frogs and singing of crickets took the air between them. Imogen wished she knew what to do, wanted to fix everything for him. Clearing her throat, she tried to change the subject: "How much has really changed around here, anyway?"

"Too much," Sebastian said, a wry smile on his face. "And yet, not enough. But we've got time now, so go check on Eleanor. Tell her I'm sorry I hung around so long."

"I will, but know that next time won't be as bad."

"Oh, you think there's a 'next time' coming, that's cute."

"Stop it, you jerk." She laughed and pushed him off the tree. He dodged her with a goodhearted groan.

"You're so obnoxious!" he mock-whined and stamped a foot. "Why are we friends?!"

"You love me and you know it!"

"Yeah, against my better judgment, I do!"

She hugged him again, and he rubbed the top of her head just right to mess up her hair. She yelped. "You're the worst!"

Breaking from his grip, she pushed him again, her breath shallow from laughter. Suddenly she knew she'd made the right decision. Suddenly something clicked. She wasn't alone anymore. The people who remembered her grandfather were all in this village, and they were rooting for her. Hot tears sprung to her eyes and stung them, and she hugged Sebastian. He grunted from the squeeze.

"Hey, are you okay?" He patted her shoulder. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," Imogen said, her voice no more than a clogged whisper. "It's just good to be home."

"It's good to have you back. Listen, I'll come back over tomorrow and get my phone. Leave it for now, I don't care. And…really do apologize to Eleanor. Please?" He pulled back, smiling, and chucked her chin. "Take it easy. Things go up from here."

Imogen nodded and watched him go. The falling night swallowed his shape amidst the trees, and she found her way home by starlight. Eleanor had gone to bed. Farthing stood by the front door, gaping at the stars.

"It's amazing," he said, voice low. "You know that there are millions and billions and trillions of stars, but seeing it? Next level."

"One of my favorite things about this place is the nighttime." Imogen sat on a wicker chair. "She whispered the other day. When we came down here, she said 'wow' at the size of the forest."

Farthing rubbed his goatee absentmindedly. "She's come a long way with you. The newness of everything overwhelmed her, is all."

"You're a good friend, Farthing," Imogen said quietly. "Not just to Eleanor, but to me too."

"I think you've said that already. Or something like it."

"It bears repeating. You two are the reason I had the courage to leave the city. Whatever happens now, we face it together."

Nodding, he said, "I like the sound of that."

They let the quiet chill of late spring seep into their clothes, and the sweet wind off the grass filled their senses with calm. The moon had risen and set by the time they left the porch, and Imogen lingered, her back to the door, absorbing her new surroundings. Gone were the rushes of traffic. The dinging of crosswalk bells. The yelling of people on the streets. The screaming laughter of the inebriated. Every noise that grated against her nerves was gone, and the jump of her heartbeat had finally settled. Somewhere in the night, a fox barked. An owl answered it. Underbrush rustled, and trees susurrated. The whole of the valley breathed and moved, forming two words in her mind that spoke more loudly than anyone in Pelican Town ever could: Welcome home.

This time, she believed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Once again, Saturday morning was for acoustic records and pancakes. The day already had a humid haze about it, and Eleanor anticipated a muggy summer. June was getting well under way. Imogen had ordered her summer seedlings, and all three of them took the previous few days to till some of the fields. Using all of them now for planting, having just begun operations, didn't feel like a real possibility, and they conceded to clearing out two of the closest fields to the house. Three made the job easier to handle, with Imogen drawing up the plans, Farthing pulling more than his share, and Eleanor handling the heavy machinery. A few folks from town had even stopped by to see Imogen and marvel at how big she'd gotten, how grown up she looked, how long it had been since they'd seen her.

Eleanor had listened from behind her bedroom door, counting the oscillations of her small purple fan. Some of the townsfolk dropped by quickly before returning to their daily tasks—like Pierre and Clint. Some stayed for hours—Marnie and Evelyn, if she was going to name names. Marnie's big laugh and loud exclamations caught her off guard. She looked like she would be more of a quiet lady who loves animals more than people, but she'd quickly proved Eleanor wrong. Though not coarse and gruff like the woman Eleanor and Farthing had run into by the general store, Marnie displayed the happy and boisterous attitude of someone who'd decided to be happy in spite of life's hailstorms. Eleanor liked that. She just wasn't ready to show it.

But Evelyn…she dropped off cookies and had tea with Imogen and Farthing well into the evening. Eleanor pressed her ear to her door, waiting for a spike of anxiety to ripple through her veins. Instead, the soft warble of the lady's voice calmed her. She'd had enough courage to swallow her shivers and sit on the couch to listen, white board clutched to her chest. When Evelyn had gotten up to leave, she met Eleanor's gaze and simply smiled. Didn't ask for an explanation. Didn't cock an eye at her and frown. Eleanor was surprised to find herself smiling back.

Now Saturday drove onward. She breathed deeply over her mug of tea as Imogen and Farthing talked through their plans to fix the reel on the well. What surprised her about their move the most was her ease of adapting. Well…so far. The trio had breakfast, unpacked for a half hour or so, did the dishes, and commenced their work for the day. Lunch came and went as they pleased, and then one of them cooked—usually Eleanor—while the other two got dish duty. They laughed. They joked. They bonded and grew.

…she never thought she'd get this with anyone besides Farthing.

"What do you think, Ella?" Farthing drew his braids into a bundle at the back of his head and tied them up. "Up-do in, or out?"

She gave him the "okay" and whistled a bit. He burst out laughing, shoulders quaking, teeth showing. Her smile spread into a huge grin.

"So what's everyone got today?" Imogen pushed her empty plate back and stared at the ceiling. A relaxed slump smoothed out her posture here, like the valley was a balm she couldn't have anywhere else in the world, and the more Eleanor thought about that, the truer it felt. Imogen continued, "I've got to make sure the well is going in today. Yes, we have the irrigation system now, but we'll still need some backup. And the water here is perfect. We won't have to filter anything before we drink it."

"Wow," Farthing said, eyebrows raised. "That's rare."

"One of the gems you'll find in the valley."

Eleanor mimed swinging a pickaxe.

"That too," Imogen said. "I don't think the quarry is used anymore, though. Not for corporate purposes, anyway. As far as I can remember, I think that part of the mountains is considered protected now."

"Also rare," Eleanor wrote on her board.

"So what about you, Ella?" Farthing stole another piece of toast and covered it in a thin coating of raspberry jam. "Any plans for the day?"

Eleanor shrugged. She furrowed her brow, thought for a second, and then wrote, "Thought I'd explore. I'm curious."

"You'll have one heck of a day ahead of you, then!" Imogen said, smiling. "You can get a map at Pierre's and work from there."

"I'll be helping here if you need me," Farthing told her. "Cell is on, volume is up, and the car is charged. If you need me, I can come and get you."

Eleanor nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, then hesitated. Just above a whisper, she said, "Do you think they'll understand?"

Farthing's face softened. Imogen cut him off before he could say anything.

"If they don't," she said, voice rising, "they'll have me to deal with. Okay?"

In spite of herself, Eleanor smiled. They cleared the table and left the music on. The windows let a cross breeze tickle the gauzy curtains, and peace swept into the farmhouse. The fresh white paint and hardwood floors made Eleanor feel surrounded by safety, something homey about all of it whispering assurances she couldn't quite make out, but could perceive as a tingle on her skin. Making sure she had everything in her shoulder bag, she ran a hairbrush through her poofy red hair, called it good, and headed out the door. If she could make it past today, she could make the whole stretch, however long that ended up being.

Taking the path toward town, Eleanor caught herself staring at the trees, mouth open. They were so _tall_. So green. Not that she hadn't had trees in her suburb, but here they were different. Wild. Ivy sprang up from nowhere and wrapped some of their trunks like feather boas. They leaned and grew against adversity and towered over her. Once in high school, she and Farthing had had a field trip to one of the last national parks. The spread of untamed landscape tempted her to lose herself in its rolling hills. Here she wanted nothing more than to absorb that whispering green of the leaves, to stand and sway in the breeze with these poplars, pines, and birches. These mighty oaks and elms.

Now she remembered why she'd studied ecology.

In the shade of the road, a spot of bright pink caught her eye, and she drew closer to the shrub in delight. The fruit dotted the branches like Christmas ornaments.

"_Rubus spectabilis_," she whispered. "Salmonberry." Why they had such a gross name, she would never know. Technically, she told herself, the local custom of eating the berries with salmon made the name so, but it didn't fix how unappetizing the moniker turned out. The thicket of bushes spread out far into the stand of alders, and she reached in to pick a few ripe berries to munch on her way.

"Hey. Eleanor, right?"

Eleanor froze.

Fumbling, she dropped the salmonberries and pulled her board and marker out of her bag. She wrote a few words and turned around, eyes to the path.

Sebastian read, " 'I suffer from…'—I know. Farthing and Imogen told me."

Oh. Eleanor blinked and took mental stock of what to say next. Using a small eraser, she wiped the board clean and wrote, "They're working."

"What about you?"

Exploring.

"Cool. Hey, I could show you around if you want. Kind of an apology for our first meeting. That's actually why I was headed here. To the house. You know what I mean."

She raked her hand through her hair and took a measured breath. Digging into her bag, she handed him a pamphlet of her own design.

"Selective mutism," he read aloud. "You don't have to try and talk to me, it's totally fine. If the answer to something is yes, just nod. No, shake your head. And if you don't know, you can shrug. That's basically how I communicate with my stepfather anyway." A miniscule laugh puffed up out of him. Eleanor felt the corner of her mouth twinge.

She wrote, "Funny…but sad."

"I know," he said. "Anyway, I can leave if that makes you more comfortable. I don't have to—you don't need a guide if you don't want one."

For a moment, she looked at him. He lit up a cigarette with a silver zippo lighter, tucked it back into his pocket, and took a deep drag. Half frowning, he exhaled and let the smoke dissipate into the sticky air. The silence didn't seem to shake him. Maybe—and she didn't dare give much credence to the thought—but maybe he understood what it was to be the observer. To feel speechless, unable to say everything on his mind. Trust wasn't her first instinct. Anyone new put her nerves on edge.

_And yet_, she told herself_, you decided to move to a brand new town in the middle of nowhere. If you didn't want to have an adventure, why did you sign up for one?_

She sighed at her own lack of foresight. Not like Zuzu City had offered her much, anyway. Ecologists don't generally study concrete and steel. That jungle was for anthropology students. This jungle was hers, and she intended to find the first opportunity that she could to work on an environmental study here. Shrugging, she waved for Sebastian's attention, then wrote, "Lead on."

Her suburb outside of the city had a population of 40,000 people, give or take. She could go east three blocks and not know a single soul there. The concrete and white fences gave the feeling of an infinite street stretching on into the heart of the city, where the lights and the noise could reach you from a mile up. She and Farthing had met in fifth grade, when he moved in next door, all the way from across the country. He'd told her stories of the five-day drive, how the Midwest was barren and dusty, how the west coast was lush with wildlife, and how he didn't think he'd enjoy living next to big cities. The nonstop chatter had gotten under her skin until she realized—like a complete mirror image of herself—he talked because he was anxious.

Sebastian, it seemed, suffered from the same problem.

"Did you like living in the city?"

Shrug.

"What about it—no, that's not a yes or no. You prefer small stuff like here?"

Nod.

"So that's why you decided to come."

_Plus, I don't think Imogen could live without us. And we need her too._ To Sebastian, Eleanor just nodded.

"Do you think you'll ever go back?" He gave her a sidelong glance.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head.

"Not even if someone paid you to?"

Shook her head again.

"Wow." Sebastian rubbed his chin in thought. They stood beside the river in town, leaning against the fine stone bridge. Eleanor couldn't bear the thought of facing the general store without Farthing, and besides the saloon or the doctor's office, there was nowhere else in the middle of town to go that she knew of. Over the tops of the trees in the east, she could see the glaring blue sign of a Joja Mart, and she'd be damned if she ever stepped foot in one of those ever again. Slowly, she scanned the street across the way. Two more buildings sat on the opposite side of the river, and she pointed to them before looking at her guide.

"Those?" he said. "That's the blacksmith and the library-museum thing. It's a long story."

She wrote, "I've got time."

"Well…you think you could listen to the whole story from the librarian? Or is that too many people for today?"

Abridged?

"I'm not great with stories."

Try.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face, sighed, and pulled another cigarette out of his pocket. He shook his head a little bit before lighting up and fixing his eyes across the river. "Okay, the library. We had two who ran it, a librarian and a curator. But now? Just the librarian is here. They had a falling out over something, not sure what, but the curator left. And he took the museum's entire collection with him."

Eleanor's mouth dropped open. Tucking her board under her arm, she marched over the bridge, Sebastian calling for her to wait up, and made straight for the library's door. She threw it open. The heavy smell of books and paper overwhelmed her. However strongly the smell lingered in the air, the shelves sat mostly empty. The last few volumes leaned against one another on half a shelf. Behind the counter, a bespectacled man in a blue ten-gallon hat looked up at the sudden entrance.

"Well, if it isn't the north wind," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"Gunther, this is Eleanor," Sebastian said from behind her.

"One of the new farmers, I presume." Gunther set down a stack of browned paper to look over his glasses at the pair of them. "Hard to believe you're out in the sunlight for someone other than yourself, Sebastian. On a Saturday, no less."

Sebastian ignored him. "She wants to know the whole story of the library's collection."

A pall fell over the calm on Gunther's face. "Not today, I'm afraid. We're closing early." He sighed, a breath that came up from the very bottom of him. "No. Not today."

Eleanor let herself be ushered out, then shut the door herself. The lock clicked shut behind them. She clenched her fists, unclenched them, and shook out her hands. Shrugging, she waved goodbye to Sebastian, who recoiled.

"What do you mean, goodbye?" He frowned deeply at her.

The library could have given her somewhere quiet to go. Nothing in the world sounded better right now. When you held a book in your hands in the middle of a library, who would bother you? But in the middle of new forests with people who already know the paths, who want to know who you are and why you moved and if you like it here and blah blah blah—! From beneath her eyelids, squeezed shut and aching, a tear slipped onto her cheek.

No, she swore she'd try this without Farthing. She could do this. She could.

"Hey." Sebastian's soft call broke through the buzzing in her head. "There's a quiet spot I like, far from the bustle of town. If you're into a bit of hiking, we could go. Get a breath or two."

Eleanor hesitated, inhaling slowly.

"We don't have to talk."

Slowly, she took her white board and marker. Another few seconds went by as she solidified the decision in her mind, and she wrote out two words: "Lead on."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"And there it is."

Sebastian summitted a few steps before Eleanor, then held out his hand to her. She took the rough root steps upward, dust puffing up under her boots, and crested the top of the rise to a spectacular view of the valley. From all the way up here she could see how the forest and hills nestled Pelican Town like someone had rested it inside a large bowl set in the earth. The town square stood out like a bright patch of stone, and she felt her breath come slow at the magnificent, endless stretch of sea to the south. Shaking her head, she blinked and blew out a hard, quiet sigh.

"I know," Sebastian murmured, a smile playing on his lips. "Not many people venturing up here usually. It's…it's my favorite spot in the whole valley. At night you can see the lights of Zuzu City."

Eleanor grimaced slightly.

"Yeah, I get it. Not for everyone. Something about it, though." He lightly clenched one fist and shook it, like if he could roll the dice just right, the words would land face-up and save him. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the dusty ground and let his legs down a slight slope. "It's that unattainable _thing_."

Solemn, Eleanor nodded agreement. She took the ledge next to him and pulled out her board and marker, writing, "That was Pelican Town for me."

He perked up a bit, surprise in his slightly raised eyebrows and frown. "Really? All we have here is trees and disappointment."

Eleanor wrote, "And freedom."

"You have me there."

He'd said they didn't have to talk. And now he made good on that promise. Eleanor reclined on the flat spread of hard dirt and tickling wild grasses. Closing her eyes, she let the sun warm her face and limbs, and by the time she realized she'd started drifting off, she could feel the tingle of a sunburn threatening her skin. A laugh bubbled up out of her unbidden. How beautiful was this? No sounds of traffic. No sirens. No helicopters, blaring horns, shouting. Constant sound sound SOUND. The wind rustled the new summer leaves, brought to them the sweet earthy smells of field and forest. Even the kiss of briny sea drifted up to the mountain.

Emotion flooded Eleanor. Thoughts of home and her parents encouraging her to follow her dream, leave the city. She'd done it, by George. She'd made it out, friends by her side and curiosity at the helm. Swallowing hard did nothing to stem the tears.

"Eleanor?" Sebastian's murmur surprised her. Somehow she almost forgot he was here with her. "Hey, are you okay?"

Her nod brushed dirt into her hair, but she relished the clean, unpolluted grit. Fumbling for her board, she wrote, "Just happy. So, so happy."

Finally she sat up and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. For a brief moment, Sebastian made eye contact with her. Her stomach dropped, and he immediately realized what he'd done. Eyes wide, he turned his head to the right, totally away from her, and focused on the far end of the valley. Sitting across from someone who wasn't Farthing reminded her that this entire solo social experience was untrod ground. She needed to learn to navigate her social interactions…again.

But why didn't her pulse spike?

Eleanor breathed evenly. Didn't feel the urge to bolt. A small tug in her hand surprised her, and she felt gentle fingers take her board, heard the tiny squeak of marker.

Eyes down, Sebastian flipped it around to face her. It read, "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting."

The smile that beckoned her lip upward nearly won. Sebastian sighed, then murmured, "If you want me to go, I get it."

She wrote, "Stop saying that."

"What do you mean? I've only said it once."

Three times. Maybe four now.

"That can't be right."

Sebastian. I'm not—

And she paused. One thing she found gave her an advantage was the ability to think before she wrote, rather than blurting out everything she had in her mouth all at once. "I'm not angry" felt shallow. Partial. Of course she wasn't angry, but that simple phrase wouldn't convince Sebastian. He understood that she had trouble with anxiety. He clearly got that overstimulation set her back, and that she tried to avoid it at all costs. What's more, he knew that _she_ knew about all of his efforts to accommodate her disability. Marker firmly in hand, Eleanor erased the board and tried again. When she flipped it around, she stared at the same end of the valley where he'd been looking.

He read it silently.

Heavy stillness settled over them.

_Why are you so afraid?_

Fledgling friendships either snapped under pressure, or became forged and hardened, like reliable shields against life. Eleanor waited, lungs working at half capacity. In the quiet of the wilderness, she heard him take in a slow breath through his nose, then let it out his mouth.

"Did you know," he said, voice low and quiet, "that when Imogen decided to go to college in Zuzu City, I was supposed to go with her?"

Eleanor shook her head.

"We've been friends since either of us can remember. We promised that we'd plan our futures to align so we could live next door to each other when we'd finally gotten married and had families, so our respective kids could play together like we did. Have lifelong friendships like we did. But I decided that I'd be the rebel and ignore my mom trying to encourage me to go. Stayed and took up some freelance programming gigs."

He played with a long piece of grass, eyes focusing on some fixed point she couldn't see. "I thought, 'Well, there goes my best friend.' She wasn't the first person I thought I'd lost. You can't imagine how happy I was when Lewis said she'd be coming back."

Eleanor wrote, "Do you like her?"

His nose wrinkled up and he laughed. "Ha! Can you imagine that? Maybe at some point I had a crush on her, but we were, what…ten, I think. She was the first girl I noticed, so of course I crushed. It's like imagining you and Farthing."

Eleanor felt her brow furrow before she could stop it, then laughed at herself. As much as she loved Farthing as a brother, she couldn't like him as anything else. He'd been too close, knew too much about her, for them to ever be romantically involved. Besides, when she fell in love someday, she wanted to be surprised by it. Discover things about the person as they went. She still wanted to be able to cuddle up on the couch with Farthing like siblings and never feel weird about it. Or like she expected something other than a shoulder to cry and accidentally fall asleep on.

As complicated as siblings were, lovers were infinitely more so.

Eleanor wrote, "Way different."

"Yeah, it is." Sebastian smiled and combed his hand through his hair. "You're easy to talk to, Eleanor. Well, wait, not because of your disability—what I meant—just—"

He covered his face with one hand, and Eleanor thought she noticed a tinge of red creeping up next to his ears. There was certainly one creeping up her own face.

"Oh my god," he muttered. "I am so, so sorry."

Eleanor quickly scribbled on her board and placed it in his lap, so he could peek from behind his fingers and look down onto her words: I know what you meant.

She took it back, wrote and slid it again: It's not the worst thing someone has said to me.

Once more: Besides, you weren't being hateful. I mean, we ARE talking.

Only, I'm not using my vocal cords. I'd love to, but…

"I can't imagine," he said finally, "how stressed you must have gotten in the city."

She nodded.

"Does this make at least a little bit of difference? Being in the country?"

Another nod. She wrote: Why do you think I studied ecology? City parks?

"Fair," he said, and smiled a little. "When do you want to head back to the farm? Not rushing you or anything, just wondering."

She wrote: I don't have much to do right now. We're holding off on getting animals until next spring.

"You might want to tell Imogen that Marnie won't let her wait that long."

She wrote: Marnie is loud, but I like her warmth.

"She's great, right? Like the village auntie."

Eleanor paused, thinking twice, then plunged for the edge: Are you okay at home?

Sebastian's eyes clouded over. He worked his teeth on his lower lip before replying. "I don't think I'm ready to talk about that. It's complicated."

Eleanor wrote: If you ever need a place to stay…our couch is free.

Pulling out his flip phone, he checked the time. "We head back now, we can catch lunch. Don't know about you, but I'm dying for a bite."

Eleanor nodded her agreement and pantomimed fainting. Her companion laughed, helped her up, but she paused—the grass behind them rustled. Purposefully, as with movement. The rustling jumped to a shrub, and she crouched to peer through the branches. Quick as lightning, something green and small darted backward, away from them. Eleanor sighed in disappointment. Her first real encounter with local wildlife, and she'd missed it by a fraction of a second.

"What was it?" Sebastian asked, tucking his cigarettes into his pocket.

She wrote: Couldn't tell. Probably a frog.

"Really? And I missed it? Crap."

They started back down the trail, a nagging question nestled in Eleanor's head. Frogs weren't the size of large grapefruits. And they didn't have a single antenna. Or, at least, none of the frogs she'd ever seen had. Just what was hiding up here on this mountain?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Perhaps the country air had cleared Farthing's head so thoroughly, he no longer questioned his decision to follow his friends all the way out here. Four days a week he telecommuted to a human resources office back in Zuzu City, but now he spent the morning combing through papers for a closer position somewhere. Maybe the next town over. Commuting didn't matter, he just wanted to be able to help people. And by his estimation, folks out here got passed over on a regular basis.

The closest food pantry was ten miles north of Pelican Town. Sure, they had a clinic here, and from what he'd heard, Harvey knew what he was doing. But what if an emergency occurred? Ambulance services would take half an hour at least to arrive, and then what? Another half hour to a half-decent hospital, where the patient would either be stabilized or airlifted out. For heaven's sake, this place hardly had a post office!

"It works," Pam told him one day in Pierre's, when he'd asked where to post a letter. "So why should we fix it?"

Okay, so the post office being Lewis' house didn't much matter. But the other things very much did.

"What's up?" Imogen sat down next to him at the kitchen table and took off her gardening gloves. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she swiped at it with her wrist. "You're scowling pretty bad."  
"Well…" Farthing sighed and folded up the paper. "My mind is heavy today."

"About what?"

"There are handfuls and handfuls of nonprofits and humanitarian groups in Zuzu City aimed directly for rural wellbeing, and even some in Castle Village and Grampleton. Why is Pelican Town left to fend for itself?"

With a slight grimace, Imogen leaned back in her chair. "I have a theory about that."

Just then Eleanor breezed through the front door, grabbed a bag of chips and a sandwich, stuffed them into her bag, stopped to wave at her friends, and took off back outside. Amused, Farthing laughed quietly. He loved to see her thriving like this.

"There's a town meeting tonight," he said. "You planning to go?"

"I was about to ask you the same," Imogen replied. "You really should bring up some of your concerns. As it is, I know most of the houses around here could use some heavy repairs no one in the valley is qualified to carry out."

"Don't say that to Robin," Farthing murmured.

"Listen." Imogen fixed a hard stare at him. "Robin's a skilled architect and woodworker. You know what Robin isn't? An electrician. Or a plumber. Sure, Clint's got a little bit of trade school under his belt, but not for wires crossed like a Siamese cat's eyes. Last thing they need is to touch the wrong wire."

"Time to think about changes, then."

"You ain't kidding. Hey, meet me outside the saloon at six. We'll get there early, make our battle plan." Giving his knee a light slap, Imogen downed his water glass and left, gloves in hand. Battle plan, huh? The way to know a town was to know its people, then, he figured. Time to get these feet moving. He'd been trained and educated for social work. There was a place and a time for everything, they said. If that was true, then he couldn't deny the nagging tug in his heart: time for him to put that degree to some good use.

On his way into town, he passed Sebastian, who waved hello and headed past him for the farm. Evelyn tended her patch of gardens in the town square, and her grandson Alex rested in the shade of a tree, an old greying dog in his lap. Before he could get to Pierre's General Store, Farthing stopped Lewis as he exited the store.

"Mayor," he said, "I need to ask you something."

"Farthing! How are you adjusting from life in the big city, young man?" His wide smile set Farthing at ease, but his slight turn away from the young man told of a mayor about to bolt.

"Certainly more room to think out here," Farthing said.

"Beautiful spaces all over, sure. You should explore the mountain sometime. No better view of the Gem Sea from anywhere in town!"

"I imagine so. Mayor, I have a few questions about improving conditions here in Pelican—"

"Oh, no can do, son." Lewis wiped under the brim of his hat. "I've got a meeting with Marnie today, then Pierre has a request for my time, too. But tonight. Bring your questions to the meeting."

"But, Mayor, I'm concerned—"

"Many people are nowadays, but everything will work out. It's our motto here!" With a hardy pat on Farthing's shoulder, Lewis stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled off down the road. Good grief. This was the man Imogen said the town had fought against for Internet access. Ethernet, at that, and not even high speed. Farthing was starting to suspect nothing in Pelican Town traveled at high speed except rumors and bad tempers, and maybe there was a specific person contributing to that problem.

Slightly irritated, Farthing rubbed one hand across his goatee and pushed into Pierre's. The bell above the door dinged. Pierre looked up from his horticulture magazine and waved.

"Well, if it isn't Farmer Farthing!" He leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his head in his hands. "What can I get for you?"

"Actually, a conversation." Farthing passed the few aisles, shelves gleaming with fresh varnish. The window beside the produce had been taped up to prevent further cracking, and he thought for a second he'd better advise they get that replaced. Something told him Pierre already knew and had ordered one. The man's entire home screamed of proficiency and professionalism.

"Hmm!" Pierre's eyebrows went up. "What about?"

Farthing tilted his head. "In your experience, how easy is it to access human services from Pelican Town?"

"Human services? I'm not sure I understand."

"Healthcare, emergency services, storm relief, supplemental income programs, agricultural grants. That sort of thing."

"Ah," Pierre said. "Well, we have the clinic."

Farthing paused, letting the silence drag for a few seconds. "And…?"

"And Marnie's. And now Imogen's got the old farm, so there's that."

"But say there was an accident somewhere, something life threatening. Could that person be treated in time to save them?"

"Boy, that's heavy," Pierre said, blowing a breath out the side of his mouth. He adjusted his glasses and scratched the top of his head. "Guess I never thought of that—oh! There's someone who'd know more than I do. You should ask him!"

Farthing turned to find Harvey entering the store, frozen in the spotlight, a cup of coffee in his hand. He blinked.

"Did I miss something?" he said.

"Farthing has a question for you," Pierre said.

Thanking Pierre for his time, Farthing went to Harvey and said, "I'm just poking around, is all. Some folks would call it being nosy."

"He thinks we need more human services," Pierre called, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"Nose all you want." Harvey told Farthing. "Any town can use improvements. We could meet for lunch, if you wanted."

"It's three o'clock, Harvey," Pierre said. "Little late for that."

Holding a level stare, Harvey forced a stiff smile onto his face. "Better late than never, then."

Farthing caught Pierre's subtle eye-roll as he came from behind the counter and busied himself with stocking a shelf. Harvey beckoned for Farthing to follow him, and they exited the shop into the sticky July air. Three weeks had passed since they'd moved to the valley. Heat and humidity here meant something very different from the close concrete summers in Zuzu City. Farthing subconsciously dusted down his cargo shorts and followed Harvey next door into the clinic. A twentysomething black girl behind the counter looked up from her vigorous sketching.

"Hi, Farthing!" Maru raised a hand in greeting, then pushed her glasses up. "How's the farm?"

"Oh, green and growing, boo." Farthing made a note to himself to call his little sister later and see how she was doing.

"Maru, would you let me know if someone needs me?" Harvey looked at her over his glasses.

"Will do, Doctor Harvey," she said, smile widening.

"Thank you. Farthing, please follow me."

Farthing winked at Maru and followed Harvey up the back steps. Harvey's keys jingled in the stuffy hallway at the top, and the door's hinges shrieked as he opened it into an apartment. Throwing his keys onto the bookshelf near the door, the doctor took in a long breath before letting it out slowly through his mouth. The kitchenette held a small table, two of its legs propped up with cardboard. Dirty pots and pans sat in the one-basin sink, and a poster of an airplane had started peeling off the wall, one corner drooping in the heat.

"No one will eavesdrop up here," Harvey said quietly. "I can buy you a drink at the saloon later. Not much food to be had in a bachelor pad, I'm afraid."

Farthing shrugged, nonchalant. "I already ate. No worries. Are you okay?"

"Fine! Fine. Heck of a first real meeting, huh?" With a short laugh, Harvey sighed and sank onto one of the chairs by the table. "I'm sorry. I should have properly come to see you and Imogen and…Eleanor?"

"That's right."

"Right."

Slightly baffled, Farthing paused a second to take in this frazzled, anxious man. He couldn't be more than thirty-five, and by the degrees hanging on the walls, clearly he was qualified to practice medicine. His red-brown hair stuck up in the back, and he'd missed a spot trimming his moustache. Starched and pressed, the green coat he wore spoke of far better treatment than the faded plaid button-up underneath it.

"You have questions," Harvey said. "I may not have answers. Or, at least, none you'd want to hear."

"Mostly I want to know if there's any plan set in place for the people here to receive assistance. What do we have for human services?"

A bitter, hard laugh erupted out of Harvey. "Human services. You think they'd allow themselves to be helped? I've tried to convince them that it's a good idea to connect with Castle Village's Department of Health and Human Services, but I suppose that help is a violation of their independence."

"Imogen's grandfather received assistance for the farm," Farthing said, lowering one eyebrow.

"And people shake their head at the memory of his government checks coming in."

"How long have you been here, Harvey?"

"Five years now."

"You're not a native, then."

Harvey paused, thinking, and Farthing saw the light go on in his head. "It occurred to me once or twice that was the reason, but never stuck. Wow. Guess I'm pretty thick."

Farthing couldn't help the smile creeping onto his face. "Imogen is cut from their cloth. They might listen to her."

"It's worth a shot," Harvey murmured. "But that blasted Pierre…he's convinced he has the answer for every problem in the village. And he's the loudest one of the whole rotten bunch! How's anyone supposed to get anything done and accomplished when it's like bashing your head against a brick wall? No one's even tried to get an outside company to come repair the bus, let alone implement an elder care service. I just…" The doctor took of his glasses, set them on the table, and rubbed his face furiously.

Now Farthing understood why the man's bangs stood up. The sudden bristling took him by surprise, and in the far reaches of his mind, he started a psychological profile without meaning to. Closing his eyes hard, he forced himself to stop it. That had gotten him into trouble before.

He said, "Why don't you come back to the farm with me, and we can lay out some groundwork for tonight's town meeting?"

Harvey looked up and squinted. "Groundwork, like a strategy?"

"On the nose."

"I don't see what good it's going to do, but we won't know if we don't try."

The two men exited the apartment, a verbal handshake uniting their cause. Farthing had begun to suspect that the townsfolk here could easily get lost in the frameworks of an old society, thinking that one way of life could sustain them, where outside help usually was an invasion for the worst. Now? Now the entire world was a place where country depended on country, and on the micro level, town depended on town, people depended on other people for help. He came to the valley thinking he could find peace, but he could see now the wellbeing of Pelican Town may rest on resistance.


End file.
